Viva Miami
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: COMPLETE. Pre ep for the Spider and the Fly. Short multichapter about what Ziva was up to in Miami. Ziva/Damon.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: We all live in a yellow submarine.

Spoilers: Minor, non-plot-related for _Spider and the Fly_.

Summary: Miami, no tan lines and a mysterious emailer? Sounds like there may have been a sexy party! Ziva/Damon. Do they have a mush name yet? How about Zimon. Like Zima, only good.

* * *

_Day One_

Bottles clinked as the refrigerator door opened. "Are you expensing this to NCIS?"

Ziva didn't stop at the minibar, but proceeded directly to the window. "It is the only hotel with a view of the club where the Reynosa cartel supposedly does business." She looked across the street at the place they had come to stake-out. It didn't look like much, which could be either a very good or very bad thing. She tensed, hand moving automatically to her weapon as the door beneath the club's garish sign opened. At this distance a shot from her SIG would be unreliable, not to mention problematic if she hit a member of the uniformed cleaning crew now exiting the building. Had she really expected Paloma Reynosa to parade around in broad daylight? Not really, no. Her hand remained where it was until the three people had gotten into a van and driven off.

A sudden presence behind her ended her staring contest with the front door of the club. "Mojito Loco? Are they serious?"

She shrugged Damon's chin off her shoulder and moved to put her bags away. "Why is the name important if it is a front?"

"The whole point of having a front is that it looks like a legitimate business." He trailed her around the room. "What kind of crowd goes to a place called Mojito Loco? Cougars, probably."

"I suppose you will find out when you begin bartending there tonight, though Juan Carlos did not mention that there would be any wild animals."

He smiled and shook his head as he flopped onto the bed; she was really beginning to enjoy the lack of constant correction. "Can't believe your friend got me a job there on such short notice."

"He is well connected. I did mention that we would share any relevant information we gather with MDPD and the DEA, yes?"

"Uh huh. We're freelancing on this one. Makes you wonder why they haven't bothered with this place before, though." He slipped the holster from his belt and placed his weapon on the nightstand. "Not like the drug trade is new in Miami."

"Which means that they are always busy. They are using us, we are using them. Hopefully, we will find Paloma Reynosa."

"And if not?"

She tried not to think about Jackson, or the pictures she'd seen of the store in Stillwater. "If not…" She opted for a selfish best case scenario. "Perhaps we will be able to spend a day at the beach." She adjusted the air conditioning to a less frigid level. "We have the afternoon to familiarize ourselves with the neighborhood and we are meeting with my contact in the bar downstairs at seven."

"So how do you know this Juan Carlos?" Damon's tone was mock-casual; she recognized it as the same one he used when he asked about Tony. "Moussad connection? Or are you just buddies with Spanish royalty?"

She grinned. He still found ways to surprise and impress her. "Something like that."

"Which one?"

She ignored the question, stretching out beside him on the bed. "I really appreciate you doing this, Damon."

"Hey, not like I had to quit my job or something to get here and the hotel is on NCIS. I figured it was the closest to a vacation together we were gonna get. Summer's almost over."

"Well, it is the middle of September, so summer has not even started yet in Rio." She rolled onto her side, allowing her hand to settle on his stomach. "Although I believe this is the first I am hearing about our taking a vacation."

"Huh? Oh, it was just something I was thinking about. Must've forgotten to actually mention it." His arm slipped around her shoulders. "I gotta find a job in DC so I'm not traveling so much."

"You will. Have you thought any more about going back to school?" He made a noise that she felt more than heard. "Right. We could find somewhere to have lunch."

"I just don't know if college is…"

"We do not have to talk about it if you do not want to. Aren't you hungry?"

He watched her silently for so long that she began to wonder if she should worry that she'd gone too far, but he leaned forward and pecked her lips before standing. "What do you think? Empanadas?"

"Sounds good." She accepted his hand and he pulled her to her feet. "We can do some reconnaissance and be back here for five o'clock."

"I thought you said we were meeting his majesty at seven?"

"Yes," she purred, stepping into him as she wrapped her arms around his neck, "but you start work tonight."

"I knew you asked me here just to seduce me."

"Not true. We have other things to do as well."

He laughed as he nuzzled her neck. "I've been thoroughly seduced for the past six months anyway."

She realized they weren't going to get much reconnaissance done outside the hotel room before they met with Juan Carlos.

* * *

_Day Two_

Ziva pulled her legs further into the shade of the umbrella over her cart. Frozen lemonade was apparently a popular choice for sunburned tourists in Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirts shopping along the busy street. This was the same crowd Damon had reported seeing for much of the night while working at Mojito Loco. He had already decided he had no future in bartending. The only good that had come of the night's work was the discovery that the VIP room in the rear of the club was populated by a far different clientele. Juan Carlos was working on getting Damon some discreet photo gear so they could work on IDs.

The daytime shift was definitely less exciting. The cleaning crew she'd seen leaving the previous day arrived around noon. Other than that, it was, "Gimme three large lemonades, por favor!" and, "An extra-large lemonade, señorita!" All she had discovered thus far was that no one ordered the small and everyone assumed she was Latina, therefore using various forms of Spanglish and unnecessarily loud English to communicate. At least her uniform consisted of shorts and a tank top and she had a lawn chair. Still, the street didn't seem to have a shady side. She stood to readjust her umbrella again, reminding herself that it was better here than Canada like McGee.

"Whew, I'd like a large lemonade and tall glass of _you_, sexy mama."

She gave the customer an evil eye concealed by her dark sunglasses and wondered if Canada would not, in fact, be a better option. More polite option, at the very least. She served the leering tourist the beverage only, managing a tight smile. He didn't seem inclined to leave after he'd paid. "So, is it a law in Miami that every woman has to be smoking hot to live here?" He moved to the side of the cart. "Or am I just having one of those days?"

"I wouldn't know." Her knife was safely tucked under a cleaning cloth, not that she thought she would need it. Still, nice to have it.

"Well, maybe we could go out later and do some looking for ourselves, huh?"

Just when the man was about to enter a world of pain and suffering by entering her personal space, he got lucky. "Small, please?"

"Hey, I'm talking to…" the creepy man trailed off as he eyed Damon. He muttered a thank you for the lemonade as he skulked off down the street.

She reached for the first small cup of the day as she smiled at Damon. "You have excellent timing." She decided not to mention his excellent fitted t-shirt. "I thought you would sleep later."

"It's past two."

"You didn't get back to the hotel until after six and we were on that conference call with Juan Carlos until seven-thirty."

"I slept enough." He dropped a dollar into her tip jar, the first person all day to offer more than loose change. "Want some company for a little while?"

"Please. It is hot and boring out here."

He sat on a concrete ledge a few feet from her cart. "So nothing but tourists?"

"Tourists and the cleaners. Tell me, do you think it is strange that Mojito Loco is not open during the day, despite being in a prime shopping area?"

"No, but then, I already know it's a front."

"True, but you also said they would not want to be obvious about it."

"Yeah, but they're not gonna fully staff a place if they don't…"

An older woman in a loud printed dress cleared her throat as she approached the cart with a group of shoving children. Raising her voice above their sudden demands for soda and ice cream, she sneered, "If you're not too busy chitchatting with your boyfriend, I'd like some lemonade."

"Yes." Ziva tried her best fake smile. "How many?"

"Four, of course. There are four of us, aren't there?"

"Four, yes. What size?"

"Large!" She grabbed an extra-large cup from the stack. "This one!"

"So four extra-large lemonades." Ziva bit her lip and tried to glance over the woman's shoulder. The cleaning crew was leaving Mojito Loco with a package they hadn't brought in earlier or left with the previous day. She missed what the woman said next and had to ask her to repeat herself.

"Honestly! Large, large! The four dollar one, not the four-fifty!"

"I apologize, but I thought you pointed to the extra-large cup."

"No, large! They really should have English-speaking people working here." She turned one of the children bodily to face the cart. "Joey, didn't you take Spanish? Try and make this girl understand what we want."

Five minutes, lots of insults and no tip later, Ziva pulled her chair closer to where Damon was still sitting and sank into it. "I really do not like this job. And I missed the cleaning crew leaving. Did you see the package they were carrying?"

"Yup." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and clicked through some photos of the crew and the van. "You think you should send these to El Rey?"

She pecked his lips and tossed her phone to him as she stood to serve another customer. "He's in my address book."

A short line formed and she was busy for the next few minutes while Damon spoke quietly on the phone. He slipped it into her back pocket during a lull. "Juan Carlos is on the van."

"Good thing you stopped by."

"Glad I could help. Now I'm gonna go back where there's A/C. I don't know how I handled it in the desert.

"There it is a dry heat."

"Hm. See you a little after five?"

"Enjoy the air conditioning." Ziva looked up at the sun in the cloudless sky and once again wondered if Canada would not have been a better assignment. Watching Damon walk away in his t-shirt and shorts, she decided no. Definitely no.


	2. Chapter 2

_Day Three_

Ziva sat at an outdoor table and looked at her friend critically. "Can't we sit inside where it is cool?"

Juan Carlos García smiled at her over a glass of red wine. "Tell me, Ziva, do you like South American wines? I have yet to try a wine from Argentina or Chile that I do not like. We get a nice selection of imports here in Miami, so I'd like to think my palate is quite developed. This, for example, is a Malbec from Mendoza with…"

"Just pour me a glass."

"Good girl." He poured less than an inch of wine into her glass. "Really take the time to taste the rich plum…"

"That is it." She grabbed her glass and the wine bottle. "We are moving inside."

"I'll just tell Estéban…"

"He can figure it out for himself. Inside. Now."

He followed her to a table near the back of the restaurant. "Really, there's no need to be so grumpy. You're in the Gateway to the Americas! You should be enjoying yourself!"

"I am running a lemonade stand." She thought for a moment that she was going to break the wineglass when she slammed it on the table. "As I understand it, that is an activity American children participate in to make pocket money."

Juan Carlos was unimpressed by her treatment of the glassware. "Did you learn that studying for your citizenship test? I still can't believe they made you take that thing."

"We cannot all be granted asylum, Juco."

He waved his hand. "Your mistake was taking a plane. With your international connections, all you needed to do was arrive on a raft."

"I doubt the United States recognizes Israeli refugees."

"Probably something to do with the lack of sanctions. So pretend to be Cuban! I would have vouched for you as my cousin."

She rolled her eyes. "Could we perhaps get down to business?"

"After another glass of wine. And the appetizer! Twice-fried plantains. I guarantee you will love them."

"Juco…"

He raised a smooth eyebrow as the appetizer arrived. "A shame your friend couldn't join us."

"Damon is keeping an eye on the club. Are you going to tell me anything about that package we spotted yesterday?"

"All in good time." He crossed his arms over his silk shirt. "When was the last time you had a haircut? I mean, I like the wavy, au naturel look you have going, but Georg could…"

"I did not come here to talk about my hair."

"Shoes, maybe?"

She speared a plantain with her fork. "Covert arms dealing?"

"Low, David. Of course, if I completely bowed out of the trade, I wouldn't be of much help to you and your boytoy on this case."

"He is not…" she cut her protest off as the waiter approached.

Juan Carlos stage-whispered, "Picadillo."

She ordered, "Arroz con pollo."

He frowned as the waiter departed. "You used to be fun."

"You used to answer my questions."

"Because fun was involved." Juan Carlos finished the wine bottle, pouring the lion's share into his own glass. "I'm sure Damon still thinks you're fun."

She rolled her eyes. "The packages the cleaners took out?"

"Cash."

She waited a few seconds while he sipped his wine. "That is all?"

"Well, a fair amount of cash. They want automatic weapons, but there's going to be a supply chain problem. DEA says so. They have most of the cash in the package right now."

"Most of?"

"Hey, Gucci loafers and dinner at the best Cuban restaurant in town don't pay for themselves, you know."

"I notice you did not mention _who_ wanted the weapons."

"Because I don't want to get shot for overstepping my bounds. Blood is hard to get out of silk." He finished the wine in his glass and signaled for another bottle. "Relax. If the Reynosa cartel is involved, I'll find out. Don't I always come through for you?"

"You did save my ass in Argentina."

"Speaking of ass…"

She resisted the temptation to kick Juan Carlos under the table. "Damon only likes you as a contact."

He huffed with annoyance as the fresh bottle of wine was uncorked at the table. "I was just thinking he might want to spend a day at the beach with me while you're otherwise occupied! It always helps to have someone to rub lotion on your back."

Before she could come up with an appropriately indignant reply, he waved her off. "I know, I know. You're the only one who will be slathering anything on his back. Can't blame me for trying."

* * *

_Day Four_

Ziva threw her backpack on one side of the hotel bed and moved to stand in front of the grate of the air conditioning unit. "Ugh. I really _hate_ humidity."

The sheets rustled behind her. "Something go wrong at work today?"

She turned to expose her back to the cold air. Her actual work had been completely uneventful – not even the cleaning crew had entered Mojito Loco today. She suspected that may have had something to do with the arms deal Juan Carlos had sunk, a detail she would confirm with him later. She commented on her cover-job instead. "People are lousy tippers."

Damon propped himself up on his elbow. "You'd do better working at the bar with me."

"True, but then who would watch the club during the day? Anyway, I am selling frozen lemonade, so it's not as if people would tip that much. And why am I even concerned with tips? It is not as if I am really a…a lemonade peddler."

"Peddler? Have you been reading Dickens?"

"You know very well that I haven't had time for reading."

"We could watch the club just as easily from up here." He grinned. "Not that I think we'd get much done cooped up in our room together all day."

"Mmmm."

"Anyway, I mean it about hanging out at night. That's when these people conduct business. I still think you'd be better off coming with me."

She shoved her backpack aside as she sat on the bed. "These _people_ do business whenever the opportunity arises."

"Yeah. And with drug dealers, the opportunity usually arises at night. Like the moon."

"Very poetic. Although we did catch that money drop happening during the day." She felt his hand on her back, warm against the skin between her shorts and tank top. She tensed. "I need a shower."

The mattress shifted as he moved away. "Sorry, I…any IDs on the people I snapped the past couple of nights?"

"Not yet. And it is not you. I have been outside in the sun all day, sweating and…"

"Funny, because I got back from my run about half an hour ago and I haven't showered yet. So we're both probably a little rank."

"Oh?" She had to question this particular method of persuasion. As attracted as she was to him, she wasn't sure she could overcome a workout in the Miami sun.

She realized that he was wearing only a small pair of running shorts when he threw the sheet off and got out of bed. A little sweat never killed anyone. He didn't even smell bad when he approached her. "And aren't they having a drought or something?"

"Where did you hear…?" The air conditioning and his proximity abruptly woke up her heat-muddled brain. "Are you suggesting we conserve water?"

"I didn't realize I was being so subtle about it."

"As I said, I have been outside in the sun all day." Now that he was so close, it was undeniable that he needed a shower. She hoped her own scent wasn't as pungent as she raised her arms over her head in response to his actions. Her tank top made a soft thud as it hit the wall across the room a moment later.

He said, "We should really take this to the shower."

"Are you saying I smell? Because you stink."

"So you're pretty much agreeing that the shower is a good idea."

"Fine." She grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

_Day Five_

"Raspberry mojito, please."

"Are you sure?" Ziva smiled as Damon leaned toward her over the rough wooden surface bar. "I'm much better at things like rum and coke. Or, uh, Corona."

"The women at the other end of the bar seem to be enjoying their drinks."

He lowered his voice further, making it hard to hear in the din of the club, which was really more of a glorified bar now that she saw it from the inside. "I think I may have to cut them off soon. They keep asking me to take my shirt off and flex. I feel like a piece of meat."

"Well, I will not ask you to take anything off."

"As if _you_ have to ask."

They smiled at each other for a few moments before she decided they were just shy of making themselves obvious. "Do I have to ask again for my raspberry mojito?"

"I really…"

Damon was interrupted by a short, stocky man, "The lady ordered a drink, cabrón. I suggest you make it, then bring two cases of Corona to the back."

"Right away."

As Damon stepped away to make her drink, the man sat on the stool beside her. "He is new."

"Oh?" Taking the time to look him over, she recognized the man from some of Juan Carlos' research. Alberto something? It couldn't hurt to try a little conversation. "Do you come here often?"

"You know, all the times I have tried that line on a woman, it has never worked." He laughed. "I have not seen _you_ here before, bonita."

"I just got a job in the area and I was curious about what kind of place this is," she replied in Spanish. "I do not seem to fit in with your regular crowd."

He lit up and answered in kind, "Yes, we do attract an odd group for some reason. Tourists and older people who want to pretend that they are younger people. So tell me, why are you really here?"

She sighed and looked at him through her eyelashes. "I guess I made a mistake. I assumed every club would be…well, fun."

"I should have warned you that I am the manager before you tell me what you think of my place."

"Oh, I…"

"No, no. I agree. Young and beautiful people do not fit in here. It is unfortunate, but it is not as if I can throw out the people who come here. Of course, when a woman like you comes in, I must make an effort to introduce myself." He jumped off his stool and made a brief bow. "Adelberto Romero, at your service."

"Lisa. I cannot imagine your service includes recommending a more exciting club." She winked and offered her hand, which he kissed.

Damon chose that moment to set a glass containing a pinkish concoction on a napkin in front of her. "Raspberry mojito. That'll be…"

Adelberto waved him away, switching back to English, "It is with my compliments. Now go. To the back."

Ziva sipped the drink. Too heavy on the rum, not enough sugar. She didn't wince as she said in Spanish, "Well, your bartender is excellent."

"Popular with the tourist women. But I do not worry. I have it on good authority that his interests are in another direction." He ran a hand through heavily gelled hair. "I had to fire the last one for getting involved with a patron. Can't have that." His leer at her seemed to suggest otherwise.

She played into it. "But the rules are different for managers, yes?"

"Perhaps." He watched her drink her mojito in a way that made her think looking away from it when she placed it back on the bar would be a supremely stupid idea. "Perhaps."

"You sent your bartender to the back. Is there a lounge or something there?"

"Ah, private social club. Exclusive use of the owner and his personal friends."

"And here I thought you were hiding the VIP room from me." She hoped her laugh didn't sound as forced to him as it did in her own ears. She took another long sip of her drink and gave a small cough. Damon had _really_ overdone it on the rum. As if his menopausal fan club needed another reason to cheer his return from the back room. She made the effort to finish her drink quickly, in spite of the effect on her stomach. "Well, Señor Romero, it was a pleasure meeting you, but I believe I will be going. Thank you for the drink."

His hand settled on her knee before she could get up. "Oh, don't go yet. Is this because I did not invite you to the back room?"

"Not at all." She put on her best flirty smile. "But I do have to work tomorrow and this club is not exactly what I had in mind for tonight."

"Well, I am sorry we were not what you were expecting, but I am not sorry that you came here. Could I perhaps…?"

She stood too quickly as her phone rang, the alcohol buzzing through her head. "I should take this. Goodnight."

The ringing had stopped by the time she hit the wall of heat on the sidewalk. _One missed call. Damon_. She would have to remember to thank him after his shift if he was able to escape the cougars.

* * *

_Day Six_

Ziva pushed Damon's arm off her hip in order to get close enough to the nightstand where her phone was ringing. "David."

"You meet Tony Montana yet? You say hello to his little friend?"

"Tony, did you wake me up at," a glance at the clock and she forgot to yell at him for making a movie reference, "is it nine already?"

"Sleeping in this morning? Well, I guess if the piña coladas don't start flowing until noon or so, there's really no reason to be up. How's the Sunshine State, sunshine?"

"You know, I have had only one drink since I have been here and that was last night because I was at the club where my contact says the Reynosas conduct business."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Did you find Señorita Psycho Killer?"

"Don't you think I would have mentioned it if I had?"

"So what are you doing down there?"

She could feel Damon creeping up behind her. "Tony, do you have an actual question or did you call just to bother me?"

"What, I can't just check in? See if you've got an update?"

"We are follow drug money intended for an arms purchase."

"You and your contact?"

"Yes."

"And is this mysterious _contact_ with you now?"

She angled her neck where Damon's lips touched. "No, he is not."

Tony sighed heavily over the line. "You're as boring as McGee, but at least he has the excuse that he's in Canada."

"Canada is a lovely country."

"Whatever. Uh, gotta go. Enjoy the beach!" He hung up before she could reply.

"What'd he want?"

She put down the phone and settled into Damon's chest. "Nothing in particular. I think he was just keeping himself busy while Gibbs was out of the room."

They lay quietly for a few minutes. She thought he'd fallen back to sleep when he asked, "What's the deal with you and him?"

She thought carefully before answering, "Tony and I do not have a deal. We work together."

"And that's it?"

"We are also friends, though we are not as close as we once were."

"How come?"

"People change, grow apart. Does it matter?" The embrace around her waist tightened. "You could always break his nose again if…"

Damon laughed into her hair. "Sorry, I just…"

"I know." She enjoyed being held for a moment before saying, "I should probably get up. The lemonade is not going to sell itself."

She was suddenly on her back, pinned to the mattress by his body. "Screw the lemonade."

A third person abruptly joined the conversation, "Oooh, did I get here just in time for screwing?"

Damon rolled off her as she went for her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

In spite of the muzzle trained on him, Juan Carlos made himself at home at the end of the bed. "You should know better than to try and put one past me, _Lisa_. Oh yes, you were all Adelberto could talk about in the back room after you left. The others were getting quite annoyed with him." He patted Damon's leg under the covers. "Excellent job placing the mike, by the way. We got some fabulous stuff last night."

Ziva hadn't lowered her weapon and gestured with it to redirect Juan Carlos' attention. "You still have not explained how you got into our hotel room."

"I have my ways. Does it really matter? But I'm here because we're shutting down surveillance on Mojito Loco and you two are coming with me."

"But we…"

Juan Carlos interrupted Damon's protest, "Tempting as they may be, no buts. There's going to be a fire around noon there today. Whole place will be going up in smoke."

Ziva hadn't thought Juan Carlos could shock her anymore. "You seriously rigged a fire? In the middle of a populated city?"

"Not me! This is what they were discussing in their private lounge late last night, once Adelberto got off the subject of your legs. They're close to closing with the cartel and need a little something extra. Hello, insurance."

"So no one will be intervening on the arson or fraud?"

"Not on the arson, no. But we've got MDFD lined up to make sure it doesn't get out of hand."

"That really doesn't seem safe."

"DEA had the call. They want these boys to think that the fire department is just a little too capable. A shame we have to leave now, what with all the firemen that will be all over this street in the next few hours." Juan Carlos sighed dramatically. "C'est la vie. Well, chop, chop. Get dressed and packed and I'll escort you to the Four Seasons."

She balked. "NCIS is not going to pay for a room there."

"No worries. I know a guy."

She heard Damon mutter under his breath, "Of course you do."

A few moments later, Juan Carlos was still seated on the end of the bed, watching them. "Well? Aren't you going to get up?"

"We will meet you in the lobby in five minutes," she stated firmly, making no motion to throw off the sheet.

He frowned. "As I said the other day, Ziva, you used to be fun."

When the door slammed behind him, Damon said, "_I_ think you're fun."

She grinned as she made her way to the bathroom. "Wait until you see how fun I am at a five star hotel after not selling lemonade all day."


	4. Chapter 4

_Day Seven_

Ziva watched Damon pace around their large room at the Four Seasons. "Does your pal really expect us to just sit around waiting for his call?"

"I believe he expected us to be sitting around at the pool or on the beach, but…yes." She picked at the ample remnants of the huge breakfast that had been unexpectedly delivered an hour before. "He was nice enough to arrange something for us to eat. If you want to wait here, I can go out and pick up some suits for us."

"You think we should…" He glanced at her but continued to pace. "I don't think I trust Juan Carlos."

"Because he got you the job at Mojito Loco by telling the management you were gay?"

That got his attention. "What?"

"Look, I would be very surprised to find that he is not working his own agenda, but I also trust him not to get us killed or arrested."

"Oh, that's comforting." He dropped into the chair across the table from her and grabbed a fork to spear a piece of cantaloupe. "Some reason you haven't mentioned that up to now?"

She shrugged, ignoring the fact that the gesture resulted in her complimentary terrycloth robe falling from one shoulder. "DEA and Miami-Dade Police are involved, so I assume that whatever he is up to is not an issue. My guess is that he is attempting to amass more political clout to protect his other interests."

"Arms dealing, right?"

"Yes and no. He only ever dabbled in selling weapons and he operates only under orders from official sources on that front these days. His old connections make him a valuable resource for catching traffickers." She tested a succession of beverages on the table, finding that the coffee was cold and the juices were warm. "He is a legitimate businessman now. Mostly."

"Tell me again why we're trusting this guy?"

"He is…he saved my life once. And not because it served his own interests."

Damon looked at her as he chewed a piece of toast thoughtfully. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"It's like in math how if one thing equals another thing that equals _another_ thing, uh… Well, you trust him and I trust you. So I guess I trust him."

"To a point."

"Til you tell me to stop, then." His fingers brushed the bare skin on her upper arm as he pulled her robe back up on her shoulder.

She caught his hand before he could withdraw it and held it. "You should not have so much faith in me."

"Why not? You were on my side when I didn't deserve it. Hell, I punched you in the face the first time we met and you still did everything you could to help me even though what was happening was my fault."

"It was not all…"

"It was. I made some stupid choices. But you…"

"Damon, I know all about poor choices." She released his hand to rub a scar on her scalp, a tactile reminder of Somalia. "I am sorry. I don't know why I brought it up."

"Is there something you're not telling me? Something I need to know?"

"No." She smiled, appreciating that he had given her such a clear out. "But maybe someday I will tell you everything."

"I…" he didn't finish as the phone across the room rang. "That's probably his majesty."

Her conversation with Juan Carlos took less than thirty seconds, but it was enough for any tension in the room to dissipate. Damon was standing behind her with his arms around her waist as she hung up. "So what's happening?"

"There is something big going on. We are expected at a strategy meeting with the entire task force in two hours. He is also disappointed that we are in our room instead of at the pool and hopes we enjoyed breakfast."

"Did he say anything about the fire at the club?"

"The fire department was able to confine it to the stockroom."

"So no one got hurt?"

"It does not sound that way." She felt the belt on her bathrobe come undone.

Damon whispered in her ear, "Two hours, huh?"

* * *

_Day Eight_

Ziva stretched her neck, drawing a small pop from each side before turning her attention back to the view of a busy pier through her binoculars. Juan Carlos gave a snort of disgust from the passenger seat of the rented SUV parked in the marina lot. "Cracking joints. So unfeminine."

"What do you care?"

"_I_ don't, but your manly man might."

She rolled her eyes without taking them away from the eyepieces of the binoculars. "He is more concerned that he is no longer involved with this mission at the moment."

"The only reason Agent Kirkpatrick didn't boot your booty out of this one is that you're a sworn federal agent who agreed not to have her agency mentioned in any press releases that may be generated. Can't have you sweeping in to steal the glory at the eleventh hour."

"They did not seem to mind his involvement a few days ago." Although she wasn't sure how Director Vance would feel about her unauthorized involvement, she hadn't exactly mentioned the fact that she was basically on a fact-finding mission to the DEA's lead agent. Her equivocation regarding her own position had led to Damon being frustrated that she hadn't pushed harder to keep him involved. They had spent the previous night alternately arguing and sitting in resentful silence. He had even pretended to be asleep when she'd left that morning; she had barely gotten out of the parking lot, however, when she received an apologetic call and a wish for happy hunting.

A blurred finger appeared in her right eye's view, making her aware that she wasn't really doing much hunting at the moment. She moved her pinky out of her line of sight as Juan Carlos said, "I may have overstated his affiliation with NCIS when the two of you arrived. I hadn't realized you would be traveling with a personal companion."

"He is doing me a favor." She swatted his hand away and refocused on an empty berth halfway down the pier. "He could have been helpful on the stakeout today."

"Hey, I'd love to have him here right now. Think he's lying out in the sun right now?"

"If he is, he is not wearing the suit you gave him."

"Oh, like you wouldn't want to see him prancing around in the banana hammock."

The uninvited mental image was best pushed out of mind. "Damon does not prance." She lowered the binoculars and rubbed her eyes. No one was moving on the dock. "He is probably sitting in our hotel room, waiting by the phone and worrying."

"A waste of a perfectly lovely day. He should know that if anyone can protect me, it's my favorite Moussad assassin."

"Ex-Moussad." She returned her full attention to the boat two berths down from the empty target and kept it there in spite of the fact that she recognized the MDPD officer pretending to organize fishing gear from the previous day's meeting.

Juan Carlos had never been one to drop a subject. "You still haven't really told me why you quit. Not to mention the whole changing citizenship thing. That's pretty hardcore daddy-angst." He waited for a moment for her to react. When she didn't, he gave an encouraging, "Hmmm?" She ignored him until he said, "I suppose you do enough pouring out of your heart to Mr. Muscles and his hypnotic abs."

Her cheeks bumped the rubber eyepieces of the binoculars as she grinned. "There is no need to be jealous, Juco."

"Please. As if I need another perfectly-sculpted ex-military hunk lovesick over me."

Her expression immediately fell. "He is not…"

"Don't even say it, Ziva. This guy dropped everything to come to Miami and help you out on something tangentially related to your job that he isn't even being paid for. I may be distracted by his rippling biceps, but even I can see he's in love with you."

She took a few deep breaths. She counted to ten in her head. She finally said, "What are you getting out of this?"

"A former Marine on the rebound if you think you're not ready for a commitment – that is if I'm lucky and he likes margaritas."

"Not…not that." She took another deep breath. "I mean working on a drug bust. What does this get you?"

"Honestly?"

"No, make something up so I will have a reason to hurt you."

"Now, now. That's just encouragement to lie." He waved for the binoculars, but trained them in the wrong direction after propping his sunglasses on his forehead. "Oooh, party on that yacht over there. If we slap a bikini on you maybe we can crash it."

"You have not answered my question."

"Why don't we do what I do best?" He gave her a chance to make a joke about shopping or clubbing, but she remained silent. "We'll make a trade. You tell me why you left Moussad and I'll tell you why I'm so keen on catching some drug dealers."

Minutes ticked by in silence while she watched boats come and go in the marina, none coming close to the designated berth. She finally lowered the binoculars. "Do you really think I'm stupid, Juco?"

"What? Why would I…"

"City records indicate that you have been unsuccessfully trying to open a resort adjacent to protected wetlands for the past two years. They do not trust you or your offshore accounts, so you are doing everything you can to build up political capital."

For one of the rare occasions since she had known him, Juan Carlos flushed to his hairline and refused to meet her eyes. "Well…clearly you've done your homework. What, Google?"

She chose not to rat out Agent Kirkpatrick. "There appears to be a boat headed in the right direction."

He sighed. "Sorry. I suppose I need a little work on the whole friendship thing."

"We can go shopping when this is over, okay?" Her gaze intensified on the approaching vessel.

"Will you answer one question for me?"

"Maybe."

"Fair enough."

"Are you in love with Damon?"

"That's it." She dropped the binoculars on the dashboard and threw open the car door as she unholstered her weapon. "That's our boat."

As a civilian, Juan Carlos remained in the SUV while the raid was carried out. Ziva noted that he was keeping his head down as she led one of the men from the boat to the back of a squad car ten minutes later.


	5. Chapter 5

_Day Nine_

Ziva poured a cup of pale, gritty coffee from the machine in the DEA field offices in downtown Miami. No matter where she went in the US, law enforcement had issues making good coffee; Interpol would never serve dishwater like this. She yawned, pulling her shoulder blades together in a quick stretch. The jolt from the strong but small coffee she'd had hours before with breakfast had long faded. She was debating whether adding powdered non-dairy creamer would make the tepid 'coffee' more or less palatable when Juan Carlos popped his head into the break room. "What, you have a death wish and didn't tell me?"

He had been more exuberant than usual since their confrontation in the car while on stakeout the previous day. She turned and deliberately took a sip of the coffee without adding anything to it. "Is Ryan finished in interrogation?"

"Agent Kirkpatrick has come to the same conclusion that we reached yesterday afternoon shortly after arresting Señores Smith and Jones. Really, you'd at least think they'd pick generic Hispanic names, but noooo…"

She took another sip, but decided her annoyance with Juan Carlos could only extend so far. "Are you still going to Starbucks?"

"I can, but we've moved on to lunch. I know a place a block and a half from here that makes the best cocktails in a two block radius. I think they have food too, but…"

"Working lunch, ordering in," DEA Agent Ryan Kirkpatrick growled as he walked past the door of the break room. "Menu's in the conference room."

Ziva tossed the contents of her cup down the drain as Juan Carlos said, "He's really got a bee in his bonnet. Think he's mad he didn't pay as much attention in Spanish class as you?"

"I thought he was doing quite well. And I do not think that I am the one responsible for his mood." She shot a significant look at Juan Carlos as she brushed past him on her way back to the conference room.

"So I made a small error. Major pile of ecstasy, major cocaine deal involving a Mexican cartel. Hey!" He threw up his hands. "Could have happened to anyone."

"Strange that it happened to someone with a grudge against _you_."

"So we interrupted the supply chain of club drugs for a few days." He winked. "Maybe the people bringing in the Reynosa shipment will think twice about dropping it tonight."

A moment after his statement clicked, she slammed him against the wall with enough force to bring a group of people to the door of the conference room. "Where?"

His voice rose several octaves. "I don't know, exactly! Somewhere in the Everglades! I couldn't get an exact location! Beni never mentioned it more than in passing!"

"You knew! You knew we were after Paloma Reynosa and you lied!"

"No! There was a connection! True, the crew from Mojito Loco were peripheral players, at best, only the club owner had connections to the Reynosas. But they were big into E and I thought one sure drug bust was better than fishing through the swamp for…"

Somehow, he seemed to get taller as her forearms tensed. "Why did you lie to me?"

"I needed…"

"_You_ needed… People are dying!" Her fingers tightened on his collar as she pressed him harder to the wall. "You selfish prick!"

"What's going on out here?" Kirkpatrick yelled, emerging from an office down the hall.

She ignored him and the entreaties of others to release Juan Carlos. "Where is the Reynosa drop?"

"I don't know! I don't know!"

"Ziva!" Damon's hands suddenly covered hers. "You can't make him tell you something he doesn't know." She broke eye contact with Juan Carlos, who now had tears streaming down his face, and looked at Damon. "Just put him down."

"Put what?" She took a step back as she release Juan Carlos and he collapsed to the floor. "Oh." She turned to the members of the task force standing in the open doorway of the conference room. "Make sure he does not leave. And bring him a tissue."

She could hear Damon following her as she walked toward a plate glass window at the end of the hallway. She stopped just before bumping into it. Her angry breath came in strong puffs, steaming up her view of the Atlantic. It was probably better to be facing glass; she had the feeling that if she were against a wall right now, it would have a fist-sized hole in it. Several, even.

Damon gently rubbed her lower back with one hand. She dropped her chin to her chest. "Please, don't say it."

"Say what?"

"You said that you did not trust Juco and I assured you that it would be all right and now…now…" She turned and, against her better judgment in front of people she had just recently convinced to allow Damon back into the investigation, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. "I was so sure we were going to end this here and Jackson could go home and we could stop worrying that…"

"Hey, it's not just you. The DEA trusts his information. And you did catch some bad guys. You did. They're just…not the ones we wanted. But it's not like they weren't transporting drugs." She looked up; he continued to stroke her back as he talked, "It's not like they only have to worry about the Reynosa cartel here. They're dealing with a bunch of drug dealers and shippers and everything else and we're just after this one. We weren't even sure what we were gonna get when we got here, right?"

"I know, but…"

"Think of it this way – maybe we saved a couple of college kids from an overdose or something by getting all that ecstasy. And we still might find something on Paloma Reynosa, right?"

"It is possible."

"And maybe Juan Carlos knows something that he doesn't know can help. He's not a bad guy, right?" He smiled. "Well, not bad in the sense that…okay, he's a jerk, but…"

"Not evil. Yes."

"So…"

"Yes. Let's get back to work."

* * *

_Day Ten_

Ziva stood in the hot South Florida sun, fanning herself with a sketchpad just inside a square of yellow crime scene tape surrounding a rough mud slip at the end of a dirt track. After spending the night buzzing around the Everglades in a fanboat scouting known sites of drug activity, Agent Kirkpatrick had received a call about two dead bodies found a few miles from the airport outside Homestead. They hadn't gotten anywhere near this far inland during their overnight sweeps.

She yawned and checked her watch. It couldn't possibly be this hot at eight in the morning. At least she didn't have to wear her NCIS windbreaker, as she wasn't technically working an NCIS case. And the cap was just to keep the sun out of her eyes, so there was no reason for the looks from the local agents working the scene. It wasn't as if she were walking around contaminating everything, unless the occasional droplet of sweat hitting the marsh grass counted. She fanned harder and said, "I recognize Adelberto Romero, but is the other one the club owner?"

Juan Carlos didn't lower the handkerchief he was using to cover his mouth and nose. "Yes, that's Beni. This must have been where the Reynosa people came in."

Although he had apologized repeatedly for misleading her, she was still not entirely ready to forgive him. "Does Beni have a last name?"

"I'm not being cute. Everyone called him Beni, and it was supposedly short for Benito Cereno."

"Fake." She rolled her eyes. "_Benito Cereno_ is the title of a story by Herman Melville."

"A cultured drug dealer?"

"I doubt he read the story if he allowed people to call him that."

"If it's at all illuminating, it's unlikely he gave himself the name. So what happened to Mr. Cereno in the story? Something with a whale?"

"Wrong story. And it was Captain Cereno."

"What was he captain of?"

"Is there some reason you two are talking about literature?" Kirkpatrick interrupted. "In case you haven't noticed, we've got some dead bodies here."

"I have finished sketching the scene." Ziva held up her pad as proof. "Your team has not allowed me to participate further."

"Hmph. Why do I have the feeling that these two bodies wouldn't be here if you and your boyfriend hadn't decided to _participate _in the first place?"

"Oh, relax, Agent Grumpy." Juan Carlos mimed leaning against the crime scene tape. "They'd still be dead, you'd just have to waste time identifying them without our help."

"I've had just about enough out of you, García. The raid yesterday may have worked out, but if you pull a stunt like that again, I'll…"

"Stop accepting the help I offer out of the goodness of my heart?"

Ziva could fully sympathize with Kirkpatrick's expression and said, "Shut up, Juco."

He pushed his sunglasses up his nose. "Point taken. Perhaps I'll go sit in the air conditioning with Damon for a bit." He picked his way back through the mud and grass to where her rental was parked.

Kirkpatrick remained where he was. "Much as I like having informants…"

"Yes."

"Right. We're gonna turn this over to MDPD and see if we have any luck tracking who and whatever came ashore here last night." He cocked his head. "And not to burst your bubble, Agent David, but I don't think Paloma Reynosa was with them, unless she wears a size 11 workboot."

"She could be meeting the shipment elsewhere."

"Let's get tracking. I'll see you back at HQ. Keep García on a short leash." He paused to think for a moment. "Unless he likes that sort of thing."

There was no need for the warning. Juan Carlos was smart enough to stay quiet the entire ride back to Miami.


	6. Chapter 6

_Day Eleven_

Ziva used her most commanding voice. "Face down, now."

"Why?"

"So I can give you what you deserve."

Damon hesitated. "Didn't Kirkpatrick chew me out enough?"

She didn't reply, but pointed where she wanted him.

"Why did I have to take my shirt off?"

She straddled his hips after he was settled on the bed. "Because I think you need this." He groaned into the duvet as she worked her thumbs into the tight muscles at the base of his neck. "And for the record, Ryan was not pleased that I gave you a weapon in the first place."

"He was the one who invited me to storm that apartment."

"Well…he did not say no when he saw you with me in the hallway." She leaned the weight of her upper body into her arms. "And you hit the man in the leg, so it is not as if he will not be able to talk. He _did_ fire first."

"You'd think drug dealers would learn to shoot a little better." He tried to turn his head. "And I only fired because he was aiming at our people. Creep was lucky he wasn't pointing that gun at you or I'd have aimed so he'd be pissing through a tube the rest of his life."

"That is sweet."

He fell silent, but for the occasional contented sound as she worked her way down his back. She allowed her mind to wander as she worked his muscles. Using his connections in local government, Juan Carlos had tracked a property belonging to Fernando César Delgado, a.k.a. Benito Cereno, in Hialeah, the only property other than Mojito Loco the dead man had on the books. The subsequent DEA raid had gone mostly according to plan – other than Damon kneecapping a man who had fired three shots into the ceiling above two DEA agents. It was fortunate the apartment had been on the top floor. Kirkpatrick's annoyance with Damon's actions had been tempered by the six kilos of cocaine they had recovered, a small but significant haul. It was unlikely that it was all that had come in by boat the previous night. Assuming that drugs had been the only thing to land in the Everglades. She refocused on Damon's back. They had been over theories about Paloma Reynosa during the post-raid debriefing; Kirkpatrick had been less receptive than previously.

She shook her head, not wanting to think about work anymore tonight. Massaging Damon was a good start. Although her hands were starting to get tired, she moved back to the nape of his neck where the knots had been the hardest. She felt only warm, yielding flesh. "Ziva?"

"Feeling better?" She didn't let up on his shoulders.

"Yeah, but…"

She leaned back, transferring her weight from her knees to his hips. "You would prefer for me to rub something else?"

"No, I…I mean, yes, obviously, but can we, uh, talk?"

"About?"

"Why we're here?"

"To catch Paloma Reynosa before she can kill anyone else."

"Not in terms of a mission. I mean, why are you and I here?"

She wasn't sure she could keep him pinned indefinitely, but it seemed to be working for the moment. "In the philosophical sense or…"

"Let me up."

She suddenly wanted to go back to discussing work very badly. "Damon…"

"We can't have this conversation with you sitting on me."

"What are you going to…" She felt her center of gravity shift backward as he did a push-up against the mattress. "That was rather impressive." She rolled off his legs and moved toward the headboard. "So…"

He looked at her earnestly. "Ziva, we've been together for six months. I know it hasn't been easy because I haven't always been in town…"

She wanted to make a joke to lighten the mood, but she couldn't think of anything appropriate. "We both knew that going in."

"But things change. When you called and asked for my help here, I thought…I don't know what I thought. But I know what I…I want to know why you called. And not just that you needed someone to get on the inside or backup or...you could have had DiNozzo or anyone from NCIS come with you. Why me?"

"Because…I wanted…"

"Did you just call me because you knew I wouldn't say no?"

"No!" She took a deep breath and tried to collect thoughts that had turned slippery. "Well, I did not think you would say no, but…I wanted_ you_ here."

"Ziva, do you…?"

She had never been happier to be interrupted by a phone call. She snatched her cell off the bedside table. "David."

Kirkpatrick did not mince words. "We've got a lead. Gonna stake it out. Be here in ten."

"We will…" The phone clicked. She sighed. "I suppose there is no point in 'goodbye' if you cannot be bothered with 'hello.' We should get dressed."

Damon remained where he was, looking somewhat dejected. She suddenly realized what needed to happen and, more importantly, that she wanted it to happen. She kissed his earlobe before whispering, "I will tell you before we leave Miami. I promise."

He watched her for a long moment before grinning. "So it's not summer in Rio yet, you said?"

* * *

_Day Twelve_

"Damn, this one's a fighter!"

Ziva put down her binoculars and moved near the stern to get a better look at what had Damon so excited. A large silvery shape was momentarily visible at the end of his line before splashing back under the water. As two of the DEA agents put their rods down to watch Damon reel in his fish, she leaned toward the side of the boat. "I am surprised we are even in an area that is deep enough for fishing."

"I thought we were just supposed to be pretend fishing?" Juan Carlos didn't look up from his chaise longue. "I wouldn't have agreed to this if I'd know those smelly things would be coming aboard. This is my secret pleasure vessel and now it stinks."

"We need a reason to be anchored here without arousing suspicion."

"You're in South Florida! Sit on the deck and tan! You've been arousing suspicion since you got here by wearing shirts with sleeves and too little cleavage." He rolled onto his side as she sat in the chair next to him. "I'm telling you, I've got something in the cabin that will get his mind off fish for the rest of the afternoon."

"If it is anything like the thing you are wearing…."

"Thongs are a given with a body like this. Not that I think anyone in this crowd is all that appreciative. I think they're more impressed by mass over svelte, sculpted…oh, I've lost you, haven't I?"

She tore her eyes away from the stern, where Damon was still straining against the fish, the muscles in his bare back tense and rippling. "Sorry, what?"

"That's the last time I go fishing for compliments from you when he's wearing board shorts. I have other suits if he wants to…"

"No."

They spent the next few minutes admiring the fish Damon hauled over the side until Kirkpatrick growled, "Anything going on at that warehouse? The one we're here to watch for drug activity?"

Ziva hadn't decided if he were more upset at the lack of activity at the warehouse information from the men apprehended the previous day had led them to or the fact that he had caught nothing larger than a minnow. She readjusted her sunglasses and sat down beside Juan Carlos again. He had produced a pitcher filled with something she didn't think was juice. Without asking, he poured her a glass. "If they're going to get drunk on fishing, you can at least enjoy a margarita with me."

"I really do not know why we are still friends."

"Because I'm irresistible! Except to your young man and the sea."

"Give it a rest, Juco."

"Well, I met a Mexican morsel at the mayor's office the other day when I was ferreting out your information on Señor Delgado. Some kind of diplomatic attaché. Alejandro. Ooh, it'd be like living in a Lady Gaga song! Want to see a picture?"

"You already have a picture?" She sipped her margarita as he scrolled through his BlackBerry.

"_And_ a phone number. We exchanged digits. He said he's going to be traveling for the next few weeks, but I'm sure he'd like to come out on the boat for margaritas when you're back in chilly DC."

"It was eighty-five degrees the other day in…" She forgot the weather completely as Alejandro Rivera's face smiled at her from Juan Carlos' tiny screen.

"I can see you're speechless. There may be hope for you yet."

She almost knocked the margarita out of his hand in her excitement. "Why was he there?"

"I don't know, something political? Does it matter?"

"Yes!" She could feel the eyes of the people in the back of the boat turning toward her. "Alejandro Rivera is Paloma Reynosa's brother! And if he is here, she must be close!"

"But he said he was with the Mexican government!"

"He's a lying bastard!"

"Then he's not a diplomat?"

"He is, but he…it is complicated." She raised her drink and finished what was left in the glass.

As Juan Carlos refilled it, he said, "So you're saying I shouldn't take his call in a few weeks?"


	7. Chapter 7

_Day Thirteen_

Diving behind a stack of crates, Ziva prayed that the wood would be strong enough to withstand at least a few bursts of automatic weapons fire. Her earwig was exploding with unintelligible shouted instructions, garbled positional data and crystal clear compound swears. If she survived this raid, she would have to ask Agent Kirkpatrick how he knew so much about the strange mating habits of domestic animals. She belly-crawled to a stack of crates not under such heavy fire.

She had become separated from the main body of DEA agents soon after they had surprised a group of seventeen men guarding a small mountain of cocaine in the warehouse they had staked out from Juan Carlos' boat the previous day. Their information on the number of guards had been spot on, that regarding their armament far less so. She ducked as a crate splintered above her shoulder. Why had they thought a cartel wouldn't protect its assets with the best firepower drug money could buy?

After a few more stealthy moves, she found herself out of the line of fire and with a clear view of what the guards were so fiercely defending. The seizure was going to be a huge coup for Kirkpatrick's team, provided no agents were killed. Based on what she could decipher regarding the situation, at least two were down already with serious injuries. From her vantage point, she could confirm only one dead on the guards' side. She peeked around the side of a concrete post and squeezed off the final two rounds in her SIG's first magazine. Two dead on the guards' side.

She stepped back behind the post for cover and ejected the empty magazine, jamming another in its place before the first hit the floor. No one had seemed to notice the shots fired from her direction. She realized that she was in position to flank the guards. All she needed now was backup or an assault rifle. The chaos in her ear told her she was going to need the latter. The man whose head she had considerately provided with air conditioning had been firing an AK-47 before keeling over. He wouldn't care if she borrowed it.

Staying low, she made her way toward the enemy position. The man had fallen in a spot sheltered from view, but she could still hear bullets zinging around her head. The strap of the weapon was pinned under the dead man's body. She pulled her knife from her belt and tried to hack through the thick leather. Just as she thought she was going to have to give up, it pulled free. A quick check of the man's cargo pockets provided her with two extra clips. She took a deep breath and crouched with her new weapon for a moment before popping up and firing into the backs of the guards. She didn't have time to see how many went down before she was drawing fire. She couldn't trap them in a crossfire alone, but she could keep them on their toes until…

When she opened her eyes…a moment? …minutes? …later…there was still gunfire and yelling, so it couldn't be that much later. It was certainly dark. And how had she ended up buried? She did a quick body inventory and felt nothing more concerning than a slightly sore shoulder. When she inhaled however, her nose was immediately filled with a gritty powder. She swore and coughed. This was bad. Very, very bad. She extended her hands and pushed. Light began to filter through the pile of wood on top of her. She decided she must have been hit by a collapsing stack of crates and focused on not inhaling as she pushed wood off of her.

Just as she was working out of her immediate predicament, over the cacophony in the warehouse and in her ear, she heard a very welcome shout. The guards were surrendering. A moment later, Agent Kirkpatrick was extending a hand to help her up. "You okay, David?"

"At the moment." She brushed white powder from her face with equally white hands. "I think I inhaled a lot of this, so I am not sure how long I will remain okay." She could already see her hands shaking, although her mind was clear. "What is going to happen next?"

"You should get cleaned up before the media shows up and gets a picture of you looking like that. We've got enough guys to handle the suspects you didn't mow down. Good work."

She stared at Kirkpatrick dumbly. He hadn't struck her as callous, but did he really not think there was a problem? She redoubled her efforts to brush the white powder off her skin and clothing.

"What?" He leaned down and picked up a piece of yellow cardboard from the pile that had been covering her. "You allergic to baking soda or something?"

"Baking soda?"

"Yeah, they were probably gonna use it to cut the coke."

She stopped what had quickly become frantic brushing. "You are sure?"

"Yeah, wrong texture for drugs. Believe me, I've been doing this a long time." He gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder, sending a jolt of pain through it. "You did good. Head outside." Halfway across the warehouse, she heard him yell, "And don't let the press see you looking like that!"

She was walking through the side door of the warehouse when she realized she'd lost her confiscated AK in the heap of wood and white powder. She didn't even turn around as she caught sight of Damon running toward her. He swept her off her feet into a hug a moment later. "Don't ever do that again!"

"Um…"

"You just disappeared off the radio and they were reporting casualties and I thought something terrible had happened. Then you weren't coming out when they started bringing the bad guys out and…" He continued to squeeze her tightly, not seeming to realize that her feet weren't touching the ground. "I don't know what I'd do if something…I love you, Ziva, and I…" he trailed off and buried his face in her neck.

She took advantage of the fact that her lips were level with his ear to whisper, "I love you too."

The moment was suddenly over when a third person joined the embrace. "See, that wasn't so hard. You guys are such a cute couple. Now let's go out and party before they confiscate you as evidence."

Ziva shoved Juan Carlos away to stop him from snorting more powder from her hair. "It is just baking soda. And I do not think I will want to go anywhere other than the shower, followed by bed once I finish any paperwork associated with this raid." She pointed her toes, but it was no good. "Damon, could you…?"

"Oh. Sorry." He didn't let go, though he did let her down. "I wish I could have gone in there with you."

"I am fine." She pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "Let's get out of here."

"I hear that!"

"Juco…"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, you just meant you and Damon. Well, I'll call in the morning and see if you want to do a little beach trip."

"We are not here on vacation."

"Fine, maybe I'll see if Alejandro wants to…"

She interrupted, "Do _not_ call him."

"Relax, sweetheart. I already tried. The jerk gave me a fake number." Juan Carlos shook his head. "Can't even trust lying drug dealers posing as diplomats these days."

He went on, but Ziva tuned him out. Damon had yet to let her go.

* * *

_Day Fourteen_

Ziva opened her eyes and turned to her side, but found that she was alone in bed. A note on Damon's pillow informed her that he would be back with breakfast soon. She stretched under the covers and was happy to find that her shoulder didn't feel too sore. Damon had also discovered some bruises she hadn't realized she'd gotten during the adrenaline rush of the previous day's raid, but, all in all, she was feeling pretty good as she reached for her ringing cell phone. "David."

Tony didn't even say hello. "Paloma's headed north. Gibbs wants you back in DC."

"Is Jackson…?"

"He's fine. Just get what I'm sure is your nicely tanned ass back here."

He hung up without waiting for her to answer, leaving her with the feeling that something else had happened. She shrugged booked a late flight before calling Agent Kirkpatrick to thank him for his help and tell him that she was leaving. Among other things, he informed her that the warehouse hadn't even been controlled by the Reynosas, but by the Gulf Cartel, and that he would be receiving a commendation for the seizure. Damon appeared a few minutes later with two cups of coffee and a small paper bag. "Hey, you're awake. I asked at the desk and they told me about a place down the block that has the best pastelitos in the city. So…"

"I have to get back to DC."

His smile quickly dropped. "Oh."

"If I try to book a late flight, perhaps we can go to the beach today?"

"Yeah."

She pulled the sheet with her as she sat up in bed to accept a cup of coffee. "What's wrong?"

"Huh?" He sat on the edge of the bed without looking at her. "Nothing."

"Damon…"

"No, I just…I thought things were…good…here. Guess I kinda forgot that it wouldn't last."

She set down her coffee, moved behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "The way I feel about you is not dependent on our location."

"I know." He lightly stroked her arm. "It's just that here…it was like I had you to myself."

She pulled back in surprise. "Who do you think you are sharing me with in Washington?"

"No, I mean…not that I think you're…just that your job is so…NCIS is…" She was planning to ignore her phone and allow him to finish, but he waved to it. "You should get that. Might be about work."

"I would rather…"

"No, this stuff is in my head. I just need to work it out."

The phone stopped ringing for a few seconds before resuming. "_We_ can…"

"Answer the phone. I just need a minute."

She reluctantly picked up and spent a few minutes talking with Juan Carlos. After promising that they would meet him in the lobby in an hour, she turned back to Damon. "Juco wants to take us to the beach." She waited for a reply before saying, "We do not have to go if you would prefer to…"

"I'm gonna get a job in DC," he suddenly stated with confidence.

She returned his smile. "You will need a place to stay while you are looking. And once you find one, as well."

"You're serious?"

"Absolutely. But let's not be serious the rest of the day." Her stomach rumbled, interrupting the kiss before she was really ready for it to be over. "Mmm. So you said you brought pastry? We should eat before Juco gets here."

Damon produced a puff pastry from the paper bag. "Beach, huh? You packed a bikini?"

"No." She took a bite of the pastry and tasted coconut and maybe pineapple. "I believe I mentioned the other day that we would have to buy suits if we wanted to spend any time at the pool."

"So we need to stop somewhere?"

She brushed crumbs from her lips. "No."

He stared at her for a moment. "Exactly what kind of beach is his majesty thinking of?"

"Relax. You have nothing to be self-conscious about."

He gave a snort of laughter. "As long as I stay out of the water. Figures your pal would come up with an idea like this."

"He knows I do not like tan lines."

"Hm." He traced his fingertips up the length of her arm as she began to unbutton his shirt. "So we'll get back to the serious talk when we get to DC?"

"Mm hmm." They were late meeting Juan Carlos in the lobby.

The End


End file.
